Augusta jerked her head around. “What?”
The big footman quickly schooled his features into a bland expression. “Why, nothing.” He cleared his throat. “And who might that gentleman be?”
There was a moment of ominous silence. “That, Jamison, is the Earl of Dunham—a gentleman more irritating and insufferable than most.” With that, she urged her mount into a rousing gallop, making certain to head in the opposite direction of the black stallion.
The scowl on her face only deepened on arriving home and finding no letter addressed in the bold, familiar script awaiting her on the silver tray by the front door. She took up the freshly ironed newspaper and made due with perusing the latest newsfrom the Peninsula while picking at her toast. The pages were turned in a leisurely manner when suddenly there was a choking sound.
“Gus!” cried Marianne in alarm as she entered the breakfast room. “Good heavens, are you alright? Shall I summon Tompkins to give you a thump on the back?”
Augusta’s face, more purple from anger than from any danger of expiring on the spot, appeared from behind the newsprint. “He’s done it again!”
“Whohas done what?”
She swallowed hard. Marianne knew that she penned anonymous essays for Pritchard, but no one, not even her sister, had any idea that she and the controversial Firebrand were one and the same. And it was left best that way. “No need to call for assistance,” she muttered. “The only thing stuck in my throat is the fact that the Earl of Dunham has made another speech in Parliament on child labor. You know it is an issue in which I have a great interest, and I can’t help but wonder why he has chosen that, of all topics, to make sport of.”
Marianne sat down. “May I see what you were reading?”
Augusta passed her the offending page and fell to finishing her cup of tea, unmindful of the fact that it was now barely lukewarm.
After several minutes, her sister looked up in consternation “Why, it doesn’t appear as if he is being anything but sincere. After all, why would he subject himself to such scathing criticism if he didn’t believe in what he was saying?” She looked down again at the printed column. “You have to admit the reaction of his peers has hardly been encouraging, to say the least.”
“Hmmph.”
“And he voices a number of the same opinions that you yourself have stated.”
Augusta’s cup came down rather hard on her saucer. “I sincerely doubt the earl and I agree on … anything.”
“Well, it also seems that he has been reading the pamphlets of Firebrand. Surely you have no complaint with that man’s ideas or commitment, since he is accorded to be the most articulate and provocative reformer in all of London.”
Augusta managed not to fall into a paroxysm of coughing.
“And don’t tell me you haven’t read them, for I’d never believe you,” went on Marianne. “Anyway, I’ve seen them hidden under the papers on your desk. All of them. Now, I can’t claim to follow all the nuances of Firebrand’s arguments, for that takes someone with a sharp mind like yours, Gus. But I do understand enough to know he is a very gifted thinker.”
She lowered her voice. “Pray, just make sure Mama never hears that either of us has read such unsuitable material for innocent females else she’ll take to her bed for a week to recover from the shock.”
“You can be sure that I shall never mention that name,” replied Augusta faintly.
To her great relief, the subject was put to rest by the entrance of their mother, and the rest of the breakfast time was spent in going over the latest invitations and obligations for the coming week. For once, Augusta made no show of dismay at hearing the list of routs and balls she was expected to attend with her sister.
How better to discover just what evening a certain lord might be absent from his townhouse?
“Areyou sure I can’t fetch you anything else? A cup of chamomile tea? A cold compress?”
Augusta pulled the coverlet even higher up over her chin. “No, nothing,” she croaked. “This abominable headache will no doubt disappear if I merely lie still for a time.”
Marianne bit her lip as she peered into the darkened bedchamber, the heavy silk of her elegant ball gown rustling against the half-closed door. “I hate to leave you alone in such distress. After all, you are never?—”
“Don’t be a peagoose. Peace and quiet is just what I need. Go on and enjoy the evening. I shall be just fine.”
“Well if you are sure,” said her sister hesitantly. “I will look in on you when I return home.”
“No! That is, I should prefer that you don’t wake me. A restful night will have me back on my feet again by morning, I promise.”
“Very well. Good night then. I shall leave word downstairs that you are not to be disturbed.” Marianne pulled the door shut very carefully and tiptoed down the hall.
As soon as she heard the carriage conveying her sister and her mother to Lady Rockham’s ball pull away from the townhouse, Augusta threw off the covers and bounded to her feet. Her movements were even quicker than usual, due to the fact that she was unfettered by layers of muslin and petticoats. Instead she was dressed in a simple cambric shirt and rather snug dark pantaloons purloined from an old trunk of her brother’s belongings tucked away in the attic. Over this ensemble she draped a heavy black cloak, then added a nondescript cap that served to hide her mass of curls. After a moment of hesitation, she rummaged in her drawer and took out a pair of black kid gloves. They made a nice touch, she thought. She added a few hairpins to her pocket, then slipped quietly out of her bedchamber and made her way down the back stairs to the scullery door.
Jamison regarded the shrouded figure in front of him with a baleful look. “Mind you, this is a good deal more serious thanfilching apples from Squire Havelock’s orchards,” he grumbled. “If things go amiss, it will be a hell of a lot more difficult fer me to haul ye out of the suds.”
